The Journal of Cezary Regard
by The Lord of Hats
Summary: Chapter 5: An altogether far too long discussion. From Cezary's point of view, at least.
1. February 28th

February 28th, 1935

I've made my decision. I am getting the hell out of here. It's only a matter of time until the Empire finally decides to invade, and when they do, I intend to be somewhere else. The only problem is that there isn't really anywhere for me to go. It's not like I'm going to be able to head into the Empire (as if I'd even want to), and the prospects for reaching Alliance-controlled territory are pretty equally bleak. Travel across warzones isn't exactly easy. So I'm pretty much stuck staying in Gallia.

Of course, that doesn't mean I don't have options. Escya isn't the only town in Gallia, after all, even if it's where I've lived most of my life. So I'm heading to Randgriz. When the Imperials invade, Randgriz is probably going to be the last city held by Gallia, and chances are it'll surrender if it's attacked, instead of just getting plowed over by the Imperials. So there's less chance of me dying some stupid skirmish. I say skirmish, rather than crossfire, because I've made another decision:

I'm joining the militia.

Yeah, I know it seems uncharacteristic of me, but I've been giving it some thought. If I don't join up, I'm just going to be drafted. There is a war on, after all. Or at least, there will be. If I'm drafted, I'm probably going to be forced onto some position on the front lines, like a scout, or worse, a shocktrooper. But if I join up, that'll get me a bit more say in what I end up doing, and I've got a pretty good idea: I'm going to be a sniper. I've got the skills necessary for it, after all. I'm patient, I've got steady hands, and I've got excellent eyesight. It's not like they're going to turn down a talented volunteer, particularly one who went through military training at a university. So they get a sniper, and I get to carry a weapon and stay a long distance away from the people who want to shoot me. Not only that, but since they don't need as many snipers as they do front-line troopers, I won't have to go on as many missions. It's win-win.

Hmm... looking at what I just wrote here, it sounds like I'm trying to talk myself into this. I'm being awfully wordy about my reasons, and I suppose there's still an element of doubt within me, but my mind is made up. There just isn't a better option right now, and I highly doubt that one is going to come up before the Imperials invade. I've already packed my bags, and bought the train ticket to Randgriz. Writing this is pretty much the last thing I'm doing before heading out. I'll write again once I'm in Randgriz.

-Cezary Regard


	2. March 2nd

March 2nd, 1935

Well, for the time being, I'm a resident of Randgriz, it would seem. I'm renting an attic from an old couple that lives within the city walls. It's not exactly luxury, but it's not like I'm going to end up spending a whole lot of time here. Really, it's just a place to store my things so that the Imperials don't steal them all. Not that I imagine they'd have a lot of use for a bunch of books, but that probably wouldn't stop them. In any case, the room is clean, and the couple are nice enough people, nice enough to cut the rent for a courageous militia volunteer such as myself.

That's not a particularly accurate depiction of myself, I'll admit. I'm not actually in the militia yet, and frankly, I'm too intelligent to try and be courageous. I'd rather be a live coward than a dead hero. Pragmatism has kept me alive so far, after all. I'm willing to continue with it until it fails. I suppose that that's not exactly a good guideline for changing the guiding principles of my life, because if it fails, I'm dead, but I can't really imagine anything better to base it off of, and it's been pretty succesfull in other aspects of my life so far... but that's not what I'm writing this entry for, so back to the world.

Randgriz is a pretty big city, and the streets are full, but it feels empty. I can't say it's surprising, given that war is on its way. Maybe people are just staying home. I'd probably end up doing that myself if I didn't already have a plan to follow; you could cut the tension in the air with a knife. When you're outside, you almost expect for shells to start falling any second. It's completely impossible, there's no way that that'd be able to attack Randgriz before an invasion on the way in, but all the logic in the world doesn't make the feeling go away.

It's pretty late right now; I got in pretty late last night (spent the night in a dirty hotel. I plan not to repeat the experience), and spent today settling in, so now is the first chance I've gotten to write. Tomorrow I'm finally going to go out and volunteer. Let's hope everything goes as smoothly as planned. I'm not entirely as to how much time I'm going to have once I'm joined up, but I'll try to continue writing as best I can. If I don't even have enough time to write a journal entry, well, lets just say there's going to be some serious complaining when I finally do get a chance.

-Cezary Regard


	3. March 3rd

March 3rd, 1935

It would seem that my timing is perfect: the Imperials finally invaded today. I don't believe they've reached Escya yet, from what I've been able to find out they're invading more from the northeast It makes sense; all there is in Barious is sand and ruins, but it really doesn't make a difference. It's only a matter of time before they reach Randgriz, much less conquer an insignificant little town in the middle of the desert.

It's been all over the radio, and the newspapers rushed out a special edition to cover it. And I do mean rushed out. There were typos all over the place, and the articles themselves were pretty terrible. They got about as much information across as was realistically possible, and in the end that's what counts. Well, that and selling papers. The atmosphere in Randgriz has worsened, too. Yesterday they only felt empty. Now they practically are empty, besides the occassional person nervously skittering from one building to another. The only exception was the streets near the militia offices. Those were packed to the limit with people wanting to sign up and fight for their country.

I got a slow start this morning, or I wouldn't have gotten caught in the crowd. It took me a full three hours to actually get inside of the building, and it was another hour after that before I was handed any paperwork. It was the most claustrophobic I've ever felt in my life. The air was hot and filled with sweat, and there was almost no room to move around. It was positively disgusting, to the point that it was almost impossible to focus on anything other than trying to get out of there. When I finally did get my paperwork handed in, I had to wait yet another half an hour, before somebody finally came up to me and gave me instructions to report out to the base to see if I qualify for my selected position. Nothing I didn't expect, it makes sense that not just anyone can be a sniper, you have to have the right skillset to start out with.

After I finally fought my way out of that mob, I walked to my room to pick up a couple of things, and then to the city gates, where the transportation to the base was waiting. It was still crowded in the back of that transport, but it was a good deal more bearable than signing up was. Had a decent chat with the guy next to me, who was apparently hoping to be a lancer. I could believe it, the man was huge. Once we got out there, we were divided up by what we'd applied for, and marched off to the testing areas. Actual qualification was a breeze, for me at least. My eyesight checked out quite a ways above the required level, I was able to hit the target with 90% accuracy (it would have been higher, but I'd swear they just attached a scope to an old scout's rifle, the aim was so inconsistent), and I was able to remember enough from school to pass what few technical requirements exist. So I am now Cezary Regard, Sniper First Class.

I already had my affairs in order back in Randgriz, so I'm staying on base tonight, and for the forseeable future. I was assigned a temporary bed, and a load of uniforms that don't have the squad marking, as they haven't gotten around to formally organizing squads. It's probably because they're too busy trying to deal with the mass of new recruits, though they said that they're going to have that finished within the week. Whatever else the militia is, it's efficient, at least.

I'm more exhausted than I'd have expected from what little I did today. It must be the effect of being around so many people. I might write in the next few days, but I really don't expect anything of interest to come up before the squads are organized. All that I have scheduled is some training intended to get me into the swing of militia life, and I'm probably not going to do anything in the offtime but read. Expect the next entry once I find out who I'm going to working with for the next who-knows-how-long.

-Cezary Regard


	4. March 6th

March 6, 1935

Today was perhaps the second worst day that I have ever had the misfortune to experience. I am actually considering whether staying at home and dying might not have been the better option.

It was cool, grey and humid out, to start out with. The clammy feeling that came with that never went away all day, no matter what I did. That was not what made today so completely terrible, though. It was merely a harbinger of things to come.

They divided us up into squads today. There weren't really enough snipers to go around, it would seem, because I'm the only sniper in Squad 7 right now. On the bright side, this means our new lieutenant will have slightly more interest invested in keeping me alive. Unfortunately, it also means I'm going to end up on pretty much every operation our squad gets sent on, which means I spend more time at risk of being shot.

The new lieutenant seemed happy enough to see us. Apparently he's the son of the late General Gunther. The apple seems to have fallen a considerable distance from the tree, though. He gave a cheesy speech on how keeping us alive was his highest priority (not that I'm complaining if he follows through on this, of course) and was, on the whole, annoyingly casual. He certainly didn't come across as the son of a military hero.

There is at least one trait that he shares with his father though: Darcsens. Along with the son of General Gunther, Squad 7 also received the general's tank. It's hard to believe it's really as old as it is; it still looks newer than any of the other tanks that I've seen on base. The driver of the tank is Welkin's 'sister' Isara. Who is a Darcsen. The lieutenant's sister is a Darcsen, and she will be piloting the tank. That there are Darcsen in the military isn't surprising, but having a Darcsen in the actual squad is... well, let's just say that words fail me, here.

Thankfully, I won't have to deal with her too often. She is going to be spending a lot of time in and around the Edelweiss, and you can be certain that I'm not going near that thing, much less inside it. I can only imagine how bad the interior is. I'm also not the only person who is...unhappy with these arrangements. Two of the noncommissioned officers, Sergeant Largo Potter, a lancer, and Corporal Brigitte Stark (who goes by Rosie), a shocktrooper both seemed less than pleased. Another one of the lancers didn't even bother to hide his disgust.

So, with the initial meeting out of the way, most of us went to move our personal possessions into the proper rooms. I was just starting to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't turn out to be completely unbearable when Welkin called for me to stay behind. I must have had some kind of idea of what was coming, because my heart dropped instantly. I turned around, and tried to keep a neutral expression as he gave me a brief talk about how important my performance as the squad's sniper would be, and Isara spent the whole time staring at me (I swear, they're like cats, they can always detect when someone is uncomfortable with them, and then they work to make them more uncomfortable). Then the other shoe dropped.

"Now, because you're going to be such an integral part of the squad, I'm assigning you an engineer as support. She'll be your partner for the foreseeable future."

Now, I'm feeling puzzled just about now. I have no objection to the idea of having someone around whose job is keeping me alive and supplied, but the only engineer I saw at the meeting was a teenaged guy who appeared to be sleeping while standing up through the entire thing. That's when I heard footsteps behind me. Time seemed to slow down as I turned to meet my fate.

"Cezary, this is Nadine. Nadine, Cezary. I look forward to great things from you two."

My partner is a Darcsen. There really are no words for what I'm feeling right now. Just when I thought that I was able to get through this, I find out that not only am I spending the war in the same squad as a Darcsen, I'm spending it in close proximity with a Darcsen.

That bastard Welkin must really enjoy schadenfreude.

Nadine offers her hand. Normally, I would have rejected the handshake; even though she was wearing gloves, I could still see that layer of grease on them. But I couldn't afford it, because as much as I hate him right now, I'm not about to get on the bad side of someone who has so much influence on whether or not I get through this war, and refusing the handshake definitely would have offended a Darcsen lover like him. So I put on a grin that must have looked like a death rictus, and shake her hand.

"It'll be good to be working with you, Cezary," she said.

"Same... here..." I replied through gritted teeth.

The handshake seemed to last for an eternity. Finally, it was over, and after making a quick excuse about getting my effects in order, I was able to get the hell out of there. First thing I did was wash my hands at the nearest restroom. I still feel filthy. Then I actually made good on my excuse, and moved my things into my new room.

The rooms are at half capacity right now, though we're still sharing bunks. I have top bunk (just to make my day that little bit worse), with Kevin (a shocktrooper) on the bottom bunk. Apparently Kevin hadn't been able to decide whether he would be top or bottom, and Ted, a scout who's in the top bunk in the other bed, had finally convinced him to just flip a coin. This happened just two minutes before I got there. Bottom bunk on the other bed is Theold, the lancer who had the same reaction I did to finding out about the Darcsens in the squad. I have to say, despite that similarity, I'm really not taking to Theold. Kevin seems like a decent sort, at least. Ted... I can tell already that Ted is going to be getting on my nerves extremely quickly. At least I don't have to share a bunk with him. Or a Darcsen. That, at least, is a small mercy.

Well, it's late, and we're already deploying tomorrow. I'm going to try and put this day behind me as soon as possible. I'll write at the next opportunity, hopefully before we end up actually fighting. Here's hoping tomorrow isn't as bad as today.

-Cezary Regard


	5. March 7th

March 7, 1935

It would seem that the military situation is worse than I had imagined. This morning we got up, did some minimal packing (just a few changes of uniform. We won't be returning back to base until this mission is over), ate some worse-than-usual slop that they dignified with the name of 'breakfast', got herded into the waiting transports, and shipped out. The ride was depressingly short.

Apparently, our first battle in this war is going to be retaking the bridge at Vasel. It was an unpleasant shock to learn that the Imperials have already reached Vasel, when I'd expected that they'd still be some distance off. It's a wonder that we haven't already lost the war, considering that they're so close to Randgriz. Not too much further and they'd be in artillery range. I'm having trouble imagining why they'd stop here, because I certainly can't imagine the Army stopping them. Maybe they were trying to just cut off Randgriz from its supply lines, and just starve us out, an easy victory with minimal casualties. But even that seems remarkably patient for the Empire, particularly when you consider the fact that it's been a complete blitzkrieg up until now.

In a small way, I'm thankful that the Imperials have made it this far, because too much longer in the back of that truck would have been completely unbearable, for a number of reasons. First of all, while it wasn't quite as cramped as it was when they were shipping us out to the militia base for the first time, the ride was a good deal longer. Second, two of the scouts (Ramona and Cherry, I believe their names were, though I'm having a hard time imagining that a parent would honestly name their daughter 'Cherry') were having what must be the loudest, most insipid conversation I have ever heard. It was obvious that everybody else on the truck wanted them to stop talking, but nobody was willing to actually tell them to be quiet, which was kind of surprising. It wasn't exactly surprising that Kevin didn't, indecisiveness seems to be par for the course with him, but Theold seems like the type that would have thrown his weight around. Maybe he just likes watching everyone else suffer as well. Third, the other shocktrooper on the truck (besides Kevin) spent the entire trip fiddling with her grenades and giggling softly to herself. As hard as it was to try and ignore Ramona and Cherry gabbing away, ignoring that shocktrooper was a good deal harder. I kept expecting the entire truck to be consumed in a fiery explosion that would kill us all (except maybe Theold. I don't know how tough those blast suits are).

Fourth, and perhaps the most predictable as well as the most misery inducing factor, was the fact that I was seated directly next to Nadine. Someone up there must really hate me, because the world seems to be arranging itself around making me miserable. She tried to talk to me at first, but the combination of all the noise from Ramona and Cherry's conversation, and me pretending to be too busy adjusting the scope on my rifle to notice finally got her to give up. That only made being next to her marginally less unpleasant, but every little bit helped.

We finally reached Vasel, and we got a chance to relax while the officers went off to their briefing. The downside to this was that I no longer had an excuse for ignoring Nadine. She hadn't given up on the ride here, she just decided to bide her time instead. If I recall correctly, the conversation went up something like this:

"Looks like we're going to be working together sooner than we thought," she said, somehow cheerful about the idea of going into a warzone.

"Yes. It does," I replied, carefully keeping my expression neutral. I was trying to be a short as possible with her, in the hope that she'd get the hint and go bother somebody else. No such luck, she was determined to strike up a conversation.

"So... we haven't really had an opportunity to talk yet, so I was hoping I could get to know you a little better."

That put the final nail in the coffin of my previous strategy. Trying to give a vague or minimal response would only elicit more questions. I'd just have to tough it out and actually answer this time.

"Yeah, I guess that'd be a good idea. Well, where to start... I'm twenty-three... I'm from the Barious region, grew up in a desert... earned my degree from Randgriz University... joined up to defend my country... there's not a whole lot to me, really."

"What'd you get your degree in?"

"Literature." I walked into this one blindly, I'll admit. But I truly doubt there was any way I could have expected what would come next.

"Really?" she said. "So did I! I'm actually working on the first draft of a novel"

"Oh." I said, rather lamely. "That's... nice. So... enough about me, what about you?"

We'd started walking side-by-side in a random direction by now--or rather, I'd started walking, and she followed. It was a convenient excuse to let me look somewhere other than at her.

"To touch on the same points you did... I'm 25, I'm from Fouzen, which is also where I went to college, and I joined up for the same reasons you did." I found this last statement pretty unlikely, but I wasn't about to go and say it.

"Fouzen, huh? Pretty... industrial town. Wouldn't expect a place like that to produce an author." I was pretty rapidly running out of things to say, so I latched on to a fact I knew, only barely avoiding the mental slip of describing the city as 'filthy'. It was getting increasingly difficult to hide the bile rising in my throat.

"Surely you of all people know that 'In humble beginnings are the seeds of greatness'." I decided against naming the source of the quote, instead merely forcing my face into an expression of mild amusement. It was decidedly more difficult now than at the beginning of the discussion.

"Indeed." Finally, inspiration struck; I had a way out of this nightmare. "So, your novel… what's the story you're telling?"

It worked. The conversation rapidly became one-sided as she began to describe her story (a romance, incidentally. I didn't catch much more than that), while I pretended to be listening by inserting 'Hmm', 'Ah', or 'That's interesting' at appropriate intervals. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we ended up back at the main group. There was a great deal of chatter and confusion, and it was only after I pulled Kevin aside and asked what was going on that I get a coherent picture of what had happened.

Apparently there had been quite the argument between

Apparently, Rosie and Isara had gotten into quite the argument, which really didn't surprise me, and Sergeant Alicia Melchiott had run off to tell the Lieutenant what was going on. He came back, and after some more arguing, he made a bet with Largo and Rosie: he would capture the bridge within 48 hours, or he would resign as lieutenant. If he won, they'd have to follow his future commands, no argument.

Surprising though it may seem, I'm really not happy about the bet. Although it will likely mean that that bastard gets ousted, it also means that we're going to get run into the meat grinder that is the enemy's fortifications on the bridge. I got a look at them while Nadine was talking about her story, and from what I could see, we won't stand a chance. I counted no fewer than seven tanks on the bridge, with plenty of infantry support. Chances are, he's going to charge us in there recklessly and we're all going to die.

He then went off with Alicia and his 'sister' to go examine the river for some reason or other, leaving the rest of the squad waiting for him to return, because he's the only one who actually knows where we're supposed to be bunking. I figured that I might as well start writing, for lack of anything better to—

It's 9:00 now. That stop midsentence looks awkward, but I noticed Nadine looking around, clearly searching for me, and I decided that on the whole, it would probably be better for my overall health that she not know that this journal exists, much less actually reading what I've written in here.

We're going to be moving out at 3:00 in the morning, because apparently Welkin has come up with some kind of fantastic plan. He only came back to the squad long enough long enough to pass on the info about where we're sleeping (a hastily converted hotel), before hurrying off in the tank with Isara for something or other.

I'm going to end here. I'll need what sleep I can get for what's coming. Here's hoping this isn't the last entry.

-Cezary Regard


End file.
